Cruel Coppinger by Ian Marshall.

A ship lay off the Cornish coast one fearsome stormy night.
She struck her bows upon the rocks and quickly sank from sight;
But from the wreck there sprang a man who swam with might and main,
And soon upon the rocky strand, the gold rings flashing on his hand, stood Coppinger the Dane.

A farmer’s daughter had come down to see this fearsome wreck,
And Coppinger went riding home upon her pony’s back.
His manly form and mighty arm soon caught the young girl’s eye.
Her father died, to rest was laid; to Coppinger this handsome maid was married by and by.

He soon returned to smuggling along the Cornish coast.
“No Exciseman shall harry mel” Was Coppinger’s proud boast.
He smuggled wine and brandy, which in deepest caves he stored.
The ship he sailed was dark and grim, and any man who angered him was hanged in chains on board.

Now, Coppinger was greatly feared, his ways were grown so wild,
For soon the farmer’s daughter died in bearing child.
His heart grew cold towards all men through grieving over her;
No man his wicked ways could tame, and very soon he’d earned the name of Cruel Coppinger.

They caught him out at last, unshipping contraband Bordeaux.
And Coppinger, resisting them, received his mortal blow.
They beat him down with cudgels and they bore him to die,
And many said that in the gloom they saw the Devil in the room where he was left to lie.

The tempest raged so fiercely as they bore him to the church.
They left him by the graveside, seeking shelter in the porch.
The lightening flashed, the thunder rolled, and when the morning came
The coffin bare lay on the ground, but not a hair was ever found of Coppinger the Dane!